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by heart.’
    ‘Give them to me.’
    Noah complied. ‘I can’t imagine it, though. My mother can’t drive. She couldn’t have picked him up. And my in-laws . . . they wouldn’t have taken him out of school without telling anybody.’
    Detective Mathis was dialing the number. ‘What is their name?’
    ‘Bergen,’ said Noah acidly. ‘Don’t you remember?’
    Detective Mathis nodded gravely. ‘Yes. Now that you say it, of course I do.’ He held up a finger to silence Noah. ‘Yes. Mr Bergen. My name is Detective Sam Mathis . . .’
    Just then the secretary came out from the inner office with a sheaf of papers. Caitlin caught a glimpse of Geordie’s small, bespectacled face pale against the blue sky background used for student photos. Detective Mathis took the papers from her and left the office, even as he continued to talk on the phone. He distributed them to the cops in the foyer, who scattered like birds off of a wire.
    Noah turned to Caitlin. ‘My mother will be frantic. Emily’s parents, too.’
    ‘There’s got to be some explanation,’ Caitlin insisted.
    Noah ran a hand over his face. ‘Oh my God.’
    Caitlin slipped into Noah’s arms. He squeezed her tightly and she could feel him shaking. His breathing was short and labored, as if he were lifting a heavy weight.
    ‘They’ll find him,’ she whispered.
    ‘Where could he have gone?’ he cried.
    Detective Mathis returned to the office. ‘My officers have Geordie’s picture now. They will question everyone at and around the school, to see if anyone saw your son leaving the grounds, either by himself or with someone else. I’ve sent an officer to talk to your mother. Your in-laws are on their way. I told them to meet us at the police station. Is there any chance that your son might have run away? Does he have any history of running away?’
    Noah shook his head and lifted his hands helplessly. ‘No. He’s six years old. He doesn’t even . . . know where anything is.’
    ‘Sometimes small children act impulsively. Was he unhappy about anything?’
    ‘No,’ Noah insisted. He looked at Caitlin with bafflement in his eyes. ‘He wasn’t, was he?’
    ‘No,’ she said, shaking her head. ‘He was fine.’
    Noah looked at his phone for the thousandth time, as if he were hoping for some clue to Geordie’s whereabouts to magically appear on the screen. ‘He said he was sick, and I didn’t believe him.’
    ‘He wasn’t sick, honey,’ Caitlin insisted. ‘He wasn’t. He was fine.’
    Alan Needleman edged up to them. ‘Mr Eckhart?’ he said. ‘I’m Geordie’s teacher.’
    Noah sighed. ‘Yes, Mr Needleman.’
    ‘I’m so sorry. I don’t know how this happened. I called the office the minute I realized . . .’
    ‘It’s not your fault,’ said Noah.
    ‘Was your son upset about anything that you know of? Any reason why he might leave school without saying anything?’ asked Detective Mathis.
    ‘No,’ Noah said. ‘Nothing.’
    Needleman grimaced and held up a hand as if he wanted to be called on in class. Detective Mathis stared at him. He lowered his hand. ‘Some of the older kids picked on him sometimes. He’s . . . a small boy. Slight. They teased him about that. They called him four eyes, and so forth.’
    ‘Travis,’ Caitlin blurted out angrily.
    ‘Who is Travis?’ asked Detective Mathis.
    Noah glared at Caitlin. She looked down and shook her head.
    ‘Travis is Geordie’s cousin,’ said Noah. ‘My sister’s boy. He’s had a very hard time. His father was killed in Iraq.’
    ‘He bullies your son?’
    Noah sighed. ‘Not bullies. Look, this has nothing to do with Travis.’
    ‘Detective Mathis,’ Mrs Hunt called out from behind the desk.
    ‘Excuse me,’ said Detective Mathis. He left them sitting there.
    ‘So sorry,’ Needleman whispered. ‘If there’s anything I can do.’
    Noah sat scowling, unresponsive.
    ‘Thank you,’ Caitlin said, nodding.
    Needleman backed away from them.
    In the office, the